Kindergarten
by StArBarD
Summary: What if the character's of Sherlock went to Elementary school together? Welcome to Baker Street Elementary!
1. No!

"No!"

"Sherlock…"

"No!"

"Sherlock!"

"N-O!"

Exasperated, Mycroft tried a slightly different approach.

"Sherlock, you'll make a lot of new friends!"

The five-year-old flipped his head around arrogantly and turned up his chin to his older brother, who was carrying the struggling soon-to-be-kindergartener to his new school.

Sherlock blew a raspberry into his brother's face and stuck out his tongue, clearly indicating his extreme displeasure at the turn of the situation.

"Sherlock," Mycroft warned, his tone becoming officious. "Use your words."

"NO!" Sherlock insisted.

"Mummy and daddy are expecting you to behave at your new school," Mycroft tried to say over the chorus of "no, no, no, no!"

"You must be a good boy, and I'll come and pick you up when the day is over, and then maybe we'll go and celebrate with…something."

Sherlock locked eyes with his older brother and said, with the utmost sincerity gleaming in his icy eyes "I'm not a good boy. I'm bad. I'm a pirate."

"Can't there be good pirates too?" Mycroft tested.

"No!" Sherlock insisted, sticking his small, chubby finger deep into Mycroft's ear.

"Augh!" Mycroft let Sherlock slide down a little bit, but refused to drop the struggling child, knowing that as soon as Sherlock hit the concrete he would begin running back to their house, through traffic, crossing streets without looking.

"Okay, how about this: Can't bad pirates be good if there is something in it for them? Just for a little while." Mycroft said, seeing the school, and salvation, in sight.

Sherlock contemplated this for a moment. Bad people being good for a reward? It sounded a little bit funny to him.

"What're we talking about here?" Sherlock said gesturing humorously.

"How about ice-cream? A cone if you don't get in trouble by the end of the day?" Mycroft asked, knowing that this particular bargain would be too much for the sugar-loving kid to pass up.

"Deal!" Sherlock quickly said, becoming limp and complacent in his brother's arms.

Just in time; Mycroft placed Sherlock gently on his feet as they approached the iron-linked gates of the school, which Sherlock viewed with unease.

"You didn't say anything about a prison." He whispered.

"The gates aren't to keep children in; they're to keep bad people out." Mycroft explained reasonably, knowing that he was only half lying. "You're at your safest in school."

Sherlock looked up to his older brother, the morning sun a twinkling gem in his eyes, and grasped the long, mature fingers with his own small, soft hands.

"I'm safest when I'm with you." He said quietly.

Mycroft paused for a second, letting the picturesque quality of the moment weight on his heart, then he cleared his throat.

"Nice try."

"Drat." Sherlock said, dropping Mycroft's hand and scowling darkly inside the building.

Mycroft laughed.


	2. Backpacks

**Maybe this story is just my way of releasing all the pent up trauma from my own childhood. Nah.**

* * *

Sherlock looked around and gathered information at a glance. In an instant he could tell who had been abandoned at a 'school' before, who had just finished crying, and who would be crying before lunchtime.

"I'm not happy Mycroft." Sherlock warned his brother.

"I know, but I promise by the end of the day, you won't want to leave." Mycroft said, hoping that for once his lie would come true.

Sherlock made a non-committal grunt and placed his backpack on the floor.

"No, no dear." An elderly woman hustled over from where she had been wiping _something_ from some girls face. "Backpacks go on the hooks over there…see?"

She pointed to a long row of multicolored hooks which dangled small knapsacks like hooked fish in the mid-day sun.

"_Hook_." Sherlock thought "_Pirate_."

"Each hook has a student's name over it… do you see? Just put your bag where it belongs and we can get started in a minute. Try to find your desk. It also has your name on it."

Sherlock shrugged and went to find his hook. His backpack was beginning to tire him out anyway.

He found it in a few seconds, but another knapsack was already hanging there. He read and re-read the sign, but there was no doubt in his mind that it said "Sherlock."

He put down his bag and removed the offending pink backpack from his hook. Just as he was placing the pack on the floor, a girl came up and shoved him. _Hard_.

"What do you think you're doing to my backpack, Freak!" She shouted placing balled up fists on her hips and bearing her teeth like a feral wolf.

Sherlock rose to the challenge. "It was on my hook. I was moving it."

"Who says it's your hook?" She shot back.

"It has my name on it." Sherlock pointed to the letters written in neat, green marker.

"Guess again, that says Sally!" She asserted.

Sherlock was completely caught by surprise. "No it doesn't, it says Sherlock."

"What kind of name is Sherlock? It says Sally!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yeah-huh!"

Sherlock took a deep breath and decided to try his brother's diplomacy. "Look, I'll spell it out for you: S-H-E-R-L-O-C-K. _Sherlock_."

Sally said nothing for a puckered moment. She had seen him spell it out for her and had counted all the letters and she saw that she had indeed made a mistake, but she would never ever admit to it.

"Don't tell me you can't read." Sherlock said.

Sally looked as though she might scream, but she simply crossed her arms and fixated on Sherlock with a hard stare.

"Well, I was here first, so it's _mine_!"

"What?"

"Finders _keepers!_"

"Nonsense!" Sherlock said, wishing with every moment that he'd found some way to steal after his brother when he'd walked out the door. If only the door knob wasn't so high!

"Look, I'll show you where you're hook is, just let me hang my backpack up!" Sherlock shouted.

"NO!" Sally screeched.

_"Be quiet!"_ The teacher cried. "Everyone go to your seats!" she clapped her hands and every child surged to their chairs in a rush. Sherlock realized, too late, that he'd left his backpack on the floor.


	3. Dissapointing Lunch

"Hi, what's your name?" Sherlock said to the boy sitting alone at a lunch table.

The boy looked up from his sandwich (PB&J) and gathered Sherlock in a glance, saying nothing, but chewing thoughtfully.

Sherlock tried again, "Mind if I sit here?"

The boy didn't answer, so Sherlock sat anyway.

The boy sputtered a bit and took a swig of his milk. His mouth had been stuck together with peanut butter, rendering him unable to answer.

"No, wait I'm saving this seat for my friends." The boy said.

"So you want me to leave?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah."

Sherlock picked up his lunch in disgust and went to find another free seat.


	4. A New Friend

"The day must be over by now…?" Sherlock willed the hands of the clock to go faster, hating his brother more and more with every passing moment, thinking only of his parent's horrible betrayal and the paint flying through the air like red-and-blue torrents of rain.

It was art-time and he had ducked under the table to avoid the spatter of paint, brushes, and the occasional easel. Art on the first day of school might not have been such a good idea, and judging by the way his teacher, Mrs. Hudson, was squawking she had realized this also.

"Class, class….**_Class!"_** The teacher suddenly exploded, and the sound of flinging paint, squealing children, and general rough-housing stopped in mute awe of her outburst.

"Mr. Stamford has something to say." Sherlock crawled part-of the way out from under the table to see the interloper of his classroom. It was a fat old man with a good natured face.

"Apologies for the disruption," He said gazing over the rainbow of paint splatters that marred every surface. "But we have a bit of a late entry here. I'd like to introduce John Watson. Say hello John."

Sherlock stared silently as the figure of a small boy peeked out from behind Mr. Stamford's legs. He was slight, and blond and clinging to the man's suit tightly, as though he were afraid of drifting too far away.

He muttered an almost intelligible "Hello" which was met with an insincere chorus of "_Hello John_."

"Right then, I'd best be off." Mr. Stamford said peeling to small fingers from his trousers inconsiderately.

Sherlock wriggled the rest of the way out from under the table, curious of the new student, wondering what could make a boy late for his first day of school, wondering if it had been pure stubbornness, almost like him.

Mr. Stamford saw him and pointed at him. "Look John, go and talk to that boy. Maybe he'll want to be friends with you." And with that he exited as quickly as he could, making sure John had no chance to latch back onto his pants.

John stared at Sherlock dumbly for a moment, weighing his options, but finally he walked over and said hello, much in the same way he'd said hello to the whole class; quietly and breathlessly.

"Don't do that." Sherlock said.

"Do what?" John asked, surprise etched on every feature of his face.

"Whisper. It's annoying. Plus, I can't hear you over the roar of the class."

It was at that opportune moment, someone chose to scream "**Paint fight!**" and Sherlock grabbed John and ducked quickly beneath his table just as an amorphous glob of blue paint came whizzing over their heads.

They heard it contact with the table above and the spatter of liquid on the floor, coupled with the screams of children that weren't lucky enough to stay out of its way.

"Thanks for that mate." John said gasping.

"Are we mates?" Sherlock asked for clarity.

"Only if you don't mind." John said "I'd like to be friends with you."

"Huh. I made a friend after all." Sherlock thought as green paint began to drip from the top of the table into his hair.

"I have an idea." Sherlock said.

"Does it have something to do with getting off the floor?" John asked, wondering if he should tell Sherlock about his hair.

"Yes. And you're going to help." Sherlock said.

"Huh?"

"Follow me." Sherlock said. "And pretend you're a pirate."


	5. Welcome to Kindergarten

**Sorry for the delay. I had to stalk actual kindergarteners to get some inspiration... It worked didn't it?**

* * *

"Pretend I'm a _what?"_ John exclaimed.

"Pirate. You know, Argh, Yo-ho matey!"

"Good, just so we're clear." John said.

"No," Sherlock frowned. "Pirates don't say _good. _They say _Arrrgh!"_

"_Arrrgh!" _John mocked. Suddenly he broke out with a beaming smile and began to giggle.

Sherlock's frown deepened into a scowl. "What is it?"

" Nothing, it's just ah…" John looks up in time to see a gash of purple paint splatter across the teacher's mouth as her head sinks into her hands.

"Welcome to kindergarten.?"


	6. Arrrgh!

**The best things in life begin with "Arrrgh!"**

* * *

"Arrrgh!"

Mrs. Hudson turned to find John, tugging at the hem of her skirt, growling and winking one eye. In the midst of the chaos and screaming, she found an island of peace in her curiosity over what the new boy was doing.

"Arrrrgh...matey!"

"Oh?"

"I'm a pirate." John declared in a gravelly pirate voice.

Her mystery now solved, Mrs Hudson went to turn her attentions back to attempting to control the class.

John, sensing that his audience was losing interest, tugged harder at her hem.

"Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson! You have to see my pirate act!" He complained.

Sherlock glared at him from behind Mrs. Hudson's turned back.

"You have to stay in pirate-character!" He seemed to say in a glance.

Mrs. Hudson once again gave John all of her attention as Sherlock stuck his hand nimbly into Mrs. Hudson's dress pocket, searching for the key to the door.

"Arrrgh, I'l keeelhaul ye! Fer that ye'll walk the plank!" John growled.

Mrs. Hudson smiled; how could she not? But she really had to run the class. She went to stand up.

John looked to Sherlock's frightened face, realizing he was about to be caught, and realizing he was no longer in any position to demand ice cream from his brother.

"Stall!" Sherlock seemed to say. At that precise moment a well-timed glob of purple pain was spattered across John's mouth. The sudden wetness startled him slightly, and didn't hurt, but he saw his opportunity and seized it.

Holding his breath and making his face turn red he screwed up his expression into one of complete misery.

"Wahh!" He wailed, squeezing a few tears from his eyes as Mrs. Hudson bent over him like a mother hen, pecking at the paint on his face with a moist towel and trying to comfort him with sincere quips of kindness.

Sherlock paused only to smile at the cleverness of John before seizing on the cold, sharp shape of the key and silently easing it out of Mrs. Hudson's pocket.

He didn't waste any time in dodging students flinging paint (anything that moved became a target) he merely ducked, ran and jumped until he had reached the bright blue door that led to the outside, previously undiscovered.

As Sherlock extended his arm as far as it would go, he realized he was about to make a choice; one of the hard ones that Mycroft was always going on about. As he slid the key into place, where it clicked with a satisfying metallic sound into place, he knew what his choice was. He could just as easily slip outside and spend his stolen time in the peace of loneliness.

He paused for a moment, and then heard John start another fake sob. He smiled and, using all of his weight pulled the heavy metal door open.

"Recess!" someone cried heartily. And thus, one paint brush was abandoned.

All of the other children took up the chorus, and beneath their excited chatter Mrs. Hudson took up the harmony of "You must clean up before you go out! You must!"

John forgot his tears and tore through the crowd until he reached Sherlock who waited for him at the door. With a smile and a nod, in acknowledgement of their mission's end they melted into the crowd of children that stampeded towards a sad-looking sandbox jungle-gym combo that rose like an oasis in the sea of grass.


	7. You're Clever

"You're pretty clever." Sherlock said offering John a hand to help pull him a bit further up the spider-like jungle gym.

"Not as clever as you. Your plan was brilliant." John said grunting as he heaved himself over one metal bar and closer to Sherlock. "Ingenuous, that's what my dad would call you."

"Really?" Sherlock said gazing over the fence and off to freedom.

"I think so."

For a moment, neither boy said anything. It was one quiet, pristine moment of peace that comes when there is a balance between friends.

"Class, class! Get off the playground this instant!" Mrs. Hudson squawked, her billowing apron making her appear like a flapping bird.


	8. At the End of The Day

Mrs. Hudson beckoned the class from the door and Sherlock peered out to the other side. A whole gaggle of adults stood clustered around the school door, eagerly awaiting their children.

"What's going on?" Sherlock asked, slightly intimidated by the rush of activity as children were herded to the front of the class.

"It's time to go home." John explained.

"Already?"

"Yeah." John said picking his backpack off of his hook. "Time flies when you're having fun."

Sherlock said nothing, but felt a warm, tingly sensation bleeding through his ribs. He'd been having fun with his new friend and now he didn't want to leave.

His brother's prophecy had come true.

The boy with the hook next to John's jostled him slightly on his way out, but Sherlock hardly noticed. He felt like he had to brag and show off his new friend.

"Come and meet my brother." He demanded, grabbing John's arm and tugging him lightly.

"Gee, I don't know. Let me find my dad first." John said.

Sherlock reluctantly nodded and hurriedly grabbed his backpack from where it had been resting on the floor, making a mental note to get to school early the next day so as to re-claim his hook from the loud annoying Sally. He trotted after John, trying to guess where his father might be.

John finally walked up to an unassuming man in a plaid shirt with dingy khaki pants and a broad grin which wrinkled his tan cheeks.

"Hey sport, how was your first day?" He said smiling, bending down on one knee to give John a hug.

"It was fine. Dad I want you to meet my friend, Sherlock." John waved at Sherlock, who stood back silently, uncharacteristically shy.

"Ho ho ho! Nice to meet you Sherlock! See John, first day and already making friends!" John's dad gave him a friendly nudge with his fist.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft's panicked voice floated over the crowd of catering adults and children, recounting their first day of school in explicit detail to their eagerly waiting parents.

"Oh. That's my brother. He probably thinks I've run off." Sherlock grimaced. "Do you want to come and meet him?"

By way of an answer, John glanced at his father, who nodded with approval. John smiled widely and followed Sherlock through the fray of legs, until he reached the one pair of legs he knew.


	9. Pleasure to Meet You

"Mycroft!"

Mycroft looked down, and accidentally did a double take.

"Sherlock, why is your hair green?"

"Never mind that now! I want you to meet my friend, John Watson."

John shuffled his feet shyly. "Hi." He whispered breathily.

Mycroft's surprise at his brother's hair was only doubled by the surprise that Sherlock, the introverted little boy who frightened other young children at the park, had made a genuine friend.

"Pleasure to meet you John." Mycroft stuck out his hand for a shake, scaring John who stood petrified, uncertain of what to do.

"Go on. Take it." Sherlock whispered giving John a gentle nudge. John took Mycroft's hand and jumped when Mycroft began to shake it. He dropped it all too readily when Mycroft pulled away.

"Can he come over to our house sometime?" Sherlock asked, his sparkling eyes already peered far, far into an eminent future where the two boys would be thick as thieves, playing late into the evening, staying at each other's homes for dinner, and adventuring out into the far reaches of the city as explorers.

"Gee, I'd have to ask my dad." John said, breaking the fantasy completely.

"And you'd have to ask Mum." Mycroft reminded Sherlock, offering his hand to hold.

Sherlock took it and scowled; his plans were only temporarily hampered by grown-up bureaucracy. Someday soon, they'd all see: John Watson would be his very closest friend.

"Fair well Mr. Watson." Mycroft said leading Sherlock down the street as John's father came to gather up his son. "Sherlock will tell you when it would be acceptable to visit."

"Bye John, see you tomorrow." Sherlock cried. The words felt deliciously full of promise.

"Bye Sherlock." John waved.


	10. Second Day

**Second day of school! Exposition is over, the plot begins! (More or less)**

* * *

Sherlock cracked open the door to his brother's room and placed his backpack quietly on the floor in the hallway. He silently watched the peaceful rising and falling of the purple bed sheet as Mycroft somehow snoozed away a beautiful morning.

He felt he should do something about it.

With a running leap Sherlock tackled his sleeping brother, provoking a jerk and an unexpected scream as he was violently awakened.

"Get up, lazybones!" Sherlock cried into his disoriented expression. "It's time for school and you aren't even dressed yet!"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft moaned, rolling over on his side and turning his back on the little monster who knelt on his pillow. "My school starts next week, and the school day starts at the same time as yours. Mum's going to take you to school today just let me enjoy my summer for a few more hours!"

"Who's picking me up? Can I walk home?" Sherlock said in two complete sentences, no pauses.

"No, you most certainly cannot!" Mycroft said condescendingly. "I'll be picking you up, Mum or Dad will be dropping you off. That was the deal."

"Why wasn't I informed?" Sherlock asked pretentiously.

"Would you have listened?"

Sherlock frowned and sullenly left the room, taking his backpack with him to go and find their mother.

Mycroft sank chuckling back into his warm, slightly ruffled bed.


	11. Goodbye and Hello

**Sorry, I've actually been sitting on this chapter for a while, but I hadn't updated. Thank you, concerned reader for the continuous reminder comments to keep me on track. They were not annoying at all. Seriously.**

* * *

Sherlock held his mother's hand as they walked down the street to the school. They were both sullen and silent.

"So Mycroft is going to be picking me up?" Sherlock finally asked.

"Yes." His mother said curtly. She wasn't upset at Sherlock, merely her work mate who had called her early that morning to bicker with her over the yearly earnings report. It had been so mundane and unimportant; it had ruined her mood for the rest of the day.

"I love you." Sherlock said as they turned the corner and approached the school. This took his mother by surprise.

"I love you too baby." She said genuinely, squeezing his hand. "Have a great day. Remember that Kindergarten is going to be the best time of your life."

Sherlock scowled. All adults say the same things: This is going to be the best time of your life. It didn't seem that great to him. Either growing up was really that bad, or they couldn't remember as accurately as they thought they did.

As they got closer to the school, Sherlock was able to make out familiar faces, including—darn! That Sally girl! He'd meant to arrive before her. Perhaps he could still get his backpack on the hook before her.

He also saw John, which made him stop for a moment. John was talking to another boy, and seemed to be a bit uncomfortable about it.

"John!" Sherlock called waving and left his mother's arm to race into the school yard.

John looked up, caught his eye, and sighed in relief. He gave a little shrug to the other boy, and abandoned him to run up to Sherlock.

"Good morning!" John said cheerily.

"It is now!" Sherlock said, and in short related his family's decisions regarding his schooling.

"That's tough!" John said. "And they didn't tell you about it until today?"

Sherlock snorted. "Non-verbally, of course. I believe every other member of my family is telepathic!"

"Hey, that'd be cool!" John said, and their conversation quickly drifted into telepathy and the supernatural.

As they chatted, they were both totally unaware of their watcher, staring at them from just inside the open door of the classroom.

Sherlock's mother stared at the two conversing boys also from where she had been left outside the chain-linked fence, her empty hand catching a draft. She smiled, pulled out her phone and headed home, certain that her little boy would be safe and enjoying new experiences at his new school.


	12. The Bully Begins

**Agan, I apologize for the delay, I hope that two in two days will be worth the wait.**

* * *

Mrs. Hudson had learnt her lesson about arts and crafts. She doled out three pieces of paper to each child and one pair of scissors per five children early in the morning, hopefully before the children became rambunctious.

"Today, class we're going to make a card for your parents. I want each of you to be careful with the safety scissors and make the card as pretty as you can."

Sherlock snorted; he doubted anything made in their class could be considered 'pretty.'

"I have glitter at my desk for those who need it, but remember to ask for it first!"

The table where Sherlock and John sat was perfectly round and the two new friends sat tentatively together opposite three strangers.

One boy sat sullenly staring at his work, obviously loathing the upcoming struggle between himself, the paper and the vat of paste another boy was stirring with a Popsicle stick. Sally was the third person at the table playing with the scissors, and no matter what Sherlock was determined to keep her a stranger.

The little boy with the Popsicle stick pulled it out of the milk colored ooze with an enormous glob of viscous fluid piled on the end.

"Here, hold this," He said sliding the pot of paste across the table to John. John caught it, but he was busy folding his papers, seeing if he couldn't make a flower design.

The boy with the stick put his finger on the end with the glue and pushed it down. He closed one eye, moved the stick, and then removed his finger.

Glue splattered all over John's face, especially around his mouth. He sputtered and spat out the vile tasting paste, while the boy across from him shouted "Look! John's eating glue!"

Sally took one look and shrieked while the other boy laughed hysterically. Mrs. Hudson floated over wearily.

"Oh John, why would you do that?" she asked sadly, "You were such a good boy,"

John glanced around, feeling very cornered and frightened as the whole class looked at him and started laughing, or taunting.

"I didn't!" John cried, tears coming to his eyes.

"He didn't do it Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock said pointing a finger at the boy across the table. "That boy splattered glue on his face, just look at the splash marks on John's face!" He got out of his chair as Mrs. Hudson led John by the hand to the bathroom. "Look at that boy's finger, he's got glue on it. He was the one who put the glue on John's mouth, John is being framed!"

Mrs. Hudson washed the paste off John's face, and especially out of his mouth, all the while instructing him not to eat paste again and ignoring his protests of innocence.

They walked back into the classroom and the first words someone said to John were "Paste-eater!" which started a chorus that ran around the classroom.

John sulkily sat back in his chair, glaring at the boy leading the chorus angrily. It was the same boy who had thrown the glue at him in the first place, and his eyes gleamed with mischief.

"What's your problem?" John asked once the chorus died down.

"I just don't want to share a table with a paste-eater." The boy replied blithely.


	13. Jim

Lunch was another trial. Sherlock sat next to John at an empty table, everyone else had taken to avoiding him like the plague since he'd been labeled a paste-eater. After a few minutes the boy who had thrown the paste took his lunch box and transplanted himself from the table where he'd finished his lunch to John's table, sitting opposite John once again.

"Listen," He said, "I wanted to apologize. I'm sorry I threw the paste, it was wrong."

"Just tell everyone John's not a paste-eater and you'll be forgiven." Sherlock snapped.

John, who was more forgiving, and more practical asked the boy, "What's your name?"

"I'm Jim,"

John pulled out a small snack cake from his bag, a treat from his father for starting Kindergarten.

"Want to see something amazing?" Jim asked.

"Maybe," Sherlock said suspiciously.

"Sure," John said excitedly.

Jim screwed up his face, pulled at his hair and suddenly began to wail, dripping large crocodile tears.

Mrs. Hudson, ever on alert, rushed to his aid with a handkerchief and a mother's touch.

"What's wrong baby, tell Mrs. Hudson what's wrong?"

Jim pointed at John, still weeping pathetically, "John took my desert!"

"John! Give it back to him!"

"What!" John was appalled "No I didn't! This is mine! My dad packed it for me!"

Jim sobbed even louder, "You ate yours and took mine!"

"That's not true!" John said as Mrs. Hudson gave him a quizzical glance.

"Jim is lying Mrs. Hudson, I was with John the whole time. That cake came from his lunch pail." Sherlock came to John's rescue.

Mrs. Hudson was faced with the dilemma of her career: Two against one, or tears?

"Jim," She finally said, "Are you telling me a lie?"

Jim collapsed onto the table, moaning into his arms, "I knew you wouldn't believe me!"

John sensed danger, and with deftness and skill he unwrapped the cake, offering half to Sherlock for standing up for him. Sherlock refused, so John ate the whole cake, right in front of Jim.

Jim looked up at him, eyes glinting dangerously. He didn't get what he wanted, and he was going to make sure someone paid for it.


	14. A Distraction

**Sorry! It was really unfair of me to say this would be up yesterday, I've been playing with the Wifi, and couldn't get back to the internet. Or maybe the Wifi's been playing with me... **

* * *

Recess came at last and John was never happier. He glanced over his shoulder a few times, making sure Jim wasn't following him as he made a bee-line for the jungle-gym.

"Are you still worried about Jim?" Sherlock asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Think about it Sherlock: in the movies all bad things come in threes. He's bound to do something even worse next time," John remarked.

"Don't be…" Sherlock glanced up and paused, "…silly"

John followed his line of sight to a crowd of children clamoring excitedly on the edge of the sand border. Someone had been shouting, which was not unusual at all at recess time, but once they actually began listening, a single piping voice floated ominously towards them.

They began climbing the jungle gym to get a better view and saw Jim, gesturing to a rally of enraptured kindergarteners.

"The object of the game is for us, the cops, to capture the robbers." He screamed to the billowing mass of clamoring children.

"How is he going to choose who the cops are and who the robbers are?" Sherlock asked, clamoring to the top of the gym. "That is a huge group of people,"

"So now all we need," Jim huffed at his loyal minions, "Is to get Sherlock and his freaky friend!"

The crowd cheered happily, hopping up and down in ecstasy. John looked up at Sherlock from where he had gotten comfortable, wedged in a corner made from the iron bars. He seemed pale.

Sherlock made a split second decision as the girl Sally, cursed Sally, pointed them out and shrieked in triumph.

He grabbed John's hand and set to peeling his fingers away from the iron which he clutched so tightly.

"Jump," he demanded.

John obliged instantly and pulled Sherlock to the ground with his weight, landing hard on his back.

Sherlock was up in a flash, yanking John to his feet instantly.

"Now run," he shouted as a surge of eager classmates charged at them, chanting savagely "Get Sherlock!"

Sherlock was meant to run. His thin whip-like legs flashed over the grass in a blur. He had to drag John along behind him, as the boy tumbled and tripped when startled. To say the least, dozens of thudding footsteps and voices crying out to capture them eagerly and a wall of grasping hands startled him greatly.

"Where're we goin?" John panted, fumbling over his untied sneakers and dragging Sherlock a bit closer to the mob.

"Climb the fence!" Sherlock said, steering them towards a solid wall of chain-link fencing.

John shouted, alarmed "I can't!" suddenly in mortal terror of having to choose between being torn to pieces by the mob and breaking the rules his father had set down by escaping the school all together.

Sherlock slammed into the fence and scrambled up, his feet slipping easily into the holes, shouting down at his bewildered friend: "don't think, just do!"

John grabbed the hard, unfeeling metal and felt it bite into his fingers mercilessly. He hesitated momentarily looking up at Sherlock throwing his leg over the fence before he started.

He gripped the iron and winced, his full weight was put on the part of his finger that clung to the metal. His shoes clamored over the empty spaces without finding a hold anywhere. Finally he found a space just barely big enough to support his toes and lifted his weight up to the next space.

By this time Sherlock was already climbing down the other side.

"Come on John!" He shouted.

John suddenly threw himself up and managed to cling to the next metal diamond, but his foot slipped and threatened to send him tumbling back to earth.

Suddenly he felt something tugging at his shirt, pulling his balance backwards and ripping him from his strangle hold on the fence. The mob had caught him.

He flipped around and saw Jim with a fistful of his jumper, pulling him back to earth. Two sets of hands snatched his arms and kept him from hitting the dirt as he flailed and threw his weight around trying to break free of their grasp.

Sherlock, safe on the sidewalk outside the school, stretched his hand through the link in the fence, desperate to reach his friend.

"We caught the robber!" Jim whooped noisily as John shook trying to throw off the arms wrapped around his shoulders and the iron hands gripping his wrists.

"Jim! Let him go!" Sherlock demanded, but was ignored.

Jim nudged a certain child, who nodded and blended into the crowd of children.

John stopped struggling, he could see it was useless. He tried to breathe as best he could, but the other children wouldn't stop shaking him long enough for him to relax or even think. They were uncharacteristically rough.

"Jim, what're you going to do?" he asked tremulously.

Jim pointed to the jungle gym and said: "Robbers go to jail, minimum sentence one hundred years!"

John's captors obliged, pulling him around and steering him towards the gym. The crowd of children followed, each eager to play a part in the game and become a hero apprehending the paste-eating villain.


End file.
